


Stay Here

by 35-leukothea (35_leukothea)



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Nezushi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35_leukothea/pseuds/35-leukothea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nezumi returns without warning and Shion contemplates the true meaning of emotion while his tear ducts begin functioning again after a three year hiatus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Here

**Author's Note:**

> read on tumblr [here](http://35-leukothea.tumblr.com/post/116963980932/when-shion-sees-nezumi-for-the-first-time-in-three).

When Shion sees Nezumi for the first time in three years, he barely sees him at all, because suddenly there is something very wrong with his eyes.

It’s the first time he’s cried in three years, too. Compared to the pain of losing Safu, and then Nezumi, within mere hours of each other, everything else has seemed dull, inconsequential, not worth tears at all. Although he’s supposed it is likely that Safu was gone days, even weeks before they’d infiltrated the facility, and that maybe he and Nezumi were always meant to part ways in the end, these possibilities only render the pain worse. He has tried to put them out of his mind, but no thoughts of his have ever jumped to the forefront as these do. They refuse to leave him alone, even when he sleeps. Some days he forces himself to get out of bed. Some days he doesn’t say a single word at work.

He never, ever wishes, though, that he had never known either of them.

Shion doesn’t realize he hasn’t cried in three years until he is crying again, and it feels horrible and confusing and incredibly freeing all at the same time. It’s a foreign action, and he’s almost forgotten how to do it—he nearly starts choking.

It’s drizzling out, not to mention an early spring evening, and if he weren’t preoccupied, he might take a moment to realize that they’ll both be soaked and freezing in a few minutes and the mud has ruined his shoes. It’s not really important, though. What is important? Hardly anything matters anymore. What on earth  _could_  matter, compared with this? Shion is barely sure  _this_  matters, because he’s greatly unconvinced it’s real. He’ll wake up in a minute or two, and then he’ll wish he could cry and sob and scream, wish the tears that had been building up for years would leave him be, but they won’t. And maybe they never will, because if this is real, Shion isn’t certain he’ll ever be able to stop crying at all.

It’s not crying so much as bawling, really. The noises he makes are something hideous, like the wailing of a mangy stray cat he encountered once, dying in a back alley and too emaciated and sickly to be wanted by the desperate inhabitants of the West Block for food. His eyes are shut so tight they hurt, and yet the tears still manage to seep out. His fists clutch at the other’s clothes, and he smells familiar scents. They’re indescribable. Something musty, something like iron. It pains him even more to realize that he’s forgotten these scents over time, and he cries harder.

“Shion,” Nezumi says.

He can’t answer. He’s shaking.

“Shion, please don’t cry.”

No reply.

“You shouldn’t shed tears for someone else.”

Suddenly, Shion is irate. He gives an aggressive sniff, wipes his eyes, and glares up at Nezumi. “I’m not shedding tears for you,” he snaps, trying to sound angry and doing a poor job of it. “I’m shedding tears for myself and all the strife you’ve put me through, you selfish asshole.”

Nezumi laughs a very odd-sounding laugh then, and when he pulls Shion fast against himself, Shion can feel water on his neck. It’s hot and sticky, not cold or thin like the rain. Tears that are not his own.

_God, this is awful._

For a few moments before he speaks again, all he hears is their breathing through the gentle patter of rain on stone and leaves, and all he feels is a deep warmth surrounding him, keeping him from the early spring chill. “You’re a hypocrite,” he mumbles into Nezumi’s shoulder.

“Huh?”

“You said not to shed tears for someone else. Twice, now.”

The well-disguised irony that Shion knows so well fills Nezumi’s voice, but this seems somehow more genuine. “Believe me,” he says, “you’ve caused me plenty of strife yourself.”

 

* * *

 

They are both almost completely soaked and mostly frozen by the time they bring themselves to go inside. Karan is nowhere to be seen, which tells Shion she knows what’s just happened. She’s a very intuitive person, his mother, a fact for which he has never been more grateful. He would introduce Nezumi to Karan sometime, perhaps tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. But not now.

They leave their shoes by the door and head upstairs, where they leave their damp clothes on the radiator to dry and rinse each other off with lukewarm water from the old shower and its weak pipes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shion notes that Nezumi has returned with more scars than he had when he left, and that the ones on his back feel slightly rougher than they used to. Are they still healing over, after all these years? He tries in vain to keep himself from thinking about what horrors must’ve caused those wounds, and is glad the water from his eyes is now disguised by the water running off his hair. Nezumi notices anyway. Of course he does. But he doesn’t say anything—of course he doesn’t. Shion is glad for this, too. He doesn’t want to be interrogated on why he’s such an emotional wreck, at least not by anyone that isn’t himself.

They get out when the water gets too cold to be tolerable and dry themselves off with old, scratchy towels that have likely lived a few days too many. They redress, and Shion sits on his bed as he watches Nezumi dry his hair.

“Have you cut that recently?” he asks dubiously.

“My hair is sentient, it knows when to stop growing.  _Yes_ , I’ve cut it recently.” Nezumi drops the towel and glances at him. “You’re looking a little unkempt yourself, your Highness. And pale. Seen daylight lately? Interacted with civilization?”

“Ha, ha.”

On another occasion, he might have been irked with Nezumi for poking fun at him, and can’t figure out why these jests don’t particularly bother him right now. He frowns into his lap, so lost in his musings that he jumps in surprise when he notices Nezumi’s sat down next to him.

“Yeesh, maybe you really are out of it,” he remarks; then, as an afterthought, adds, “Or just still airheaded. C’mere.”

Shion gives a small gasp as Nezumi yanks on his wrist, pulling them both down so they face each other as they lie on their sides. For a minute or so, Nezumi just looks at him. His eyes are pretty. Gray.

“Are you…are you going to stay?” Shion asks quietly, stopping himself from saying what he really means.  _Are you going to leave me again?_

Nezumi makes a noncommittal gesture that involves his eyebrows and the shoulder that isn’t leaning into the mattress, then brushes his hair out of his face. “I don’t know. I still can’t figure out what I’ve been doing these past few years. Maybe that means I should keep going.”

Shion swallows. “Or maybe there’s nothing else out there for you.”

“Yeah…maybe.”

“You sound like you like that suggestion better.”

“Well, I do. I’d prefer not to repeat the process of walking to nowhere eight hours a day and sleeping five hours a night on the hard ground and not knowing where I’d be getting my food from the next time I woke up. But what kind of adventurer would I be then?”

“Nezumi, you’re an actor.”

There is a split-second pause before he bursts out laughing, and Shion’s heart soars. “Oh, of  _course_ ,” he exclaims. “You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ve had an excuse all along. I’m an  _actor_.”

Shion laughs with him for a few moments, pulls himself closer and just enjoys that Nezumi is  _here_ , tangible, not a dream. Well, a dream, but—not a dream.  _Oh, God._  

The laughter slowly ceases, and he puts his face in Nezumi’s chest and listens as he quiets. He can hear his pulse begin to fall back to a resting level, just as it’s supposed to. Human beings are strange. Emotions are stranger.

“Stay,” he whispers.

_I want you to stay._

Nezumi wraps an arm around his shoulders and cradles Shion to him, noses at his oddly-colored hair. He can feel Nezumi’s breath on his ear and the rise and fall of his shoulders. He’s suddenly exhausted—crying takes an awful lot of effort, apparently. It’s warm here, and comfortable, and his dry eyes sting from contact with the open air. The rain drumming away on the roof makes for a soothing song, not too different from something else he’s heard before.

If Nezumi replies, Shion doesn’t hear it, because he is too far gone.

 

* * *

 

When he wakes, his eyes are shut tight, and it takes him a moment to figure out why.

He’s scared.

 _Nezumi hasn’t left_ , he tells himself firmly.  _He hasn’t. He wouldn’t do that. There, see, you hear that? You’re not making that noise, you’re not rustling the bedclothes. Open your eyes. Why are you so frightened? What’s wrong?_

It takes a few minutes, but almost as if he’s forcing himself to get up for work, he forces himself to sit up and look around. It’s early, and still pretty dark, probably only a few minutes into the long, slow sunrise. The window is barely open, but he can smell the scent that’s always on the air after a rainstorm, damp and clean. He glances beside himself, where, lo and behold, Nezumi is engaged in an unconscious battle with a blanket that had tangled itself around him in the night. Shion smiles, recalling the instances in which Nezumi had (accidentally) kicked him off the bed in their West Block home, and pokes him in the shoulder until he wakes.

“Wha—what? Are you a woodpecker now—? Agh…” Nezumi mumbles something about “sleeping with wet hair” and “shouldn’t’ve done that” as he runs a hand through his truly spectacular bedhead, then curses delicately–and abruptly, Shion is overcome with a bizarre desire that he can only remember feeling once before in his life. Almost without knowing what he’s doing, he puts a hand at the nape of Nezumi’s neck, leans over, and kisses him full on the mouth. It’s soft and earnest and worth three years of hellos and goodbyes.

Nezumi rubs his eyes a little when Shion pulls away–he still looks tired, though definitely awake now. “Hi. What’d you do that for?”

“Remember when I did it the first time?”

“Yes? And now you’ve done it again, except this time I’m not being lied to and looked down upon by a—what was the term you used?—‘selfish asshole.’”

Shion grins. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks. God, I think I’ll have to take another shower to get my hair back to normal. Are you seeing this shit?”

He groans, and, just for good measure, Shion kisses him again.


End file.
